First Contact
by MagnusScriptor
Summary: How did the Terrans and Protoss first meet? What really convinced Tassadar to spare the Terran worlds after Chau Sara?Not a recap of the manual by any means. This ties in to my other story: Starcraft Stories: New Gettysburg, or will. R&R!
1. Alien Encounters

_Receiving incoming transmission . . . _

**Magnus Scriptor: **Greetings, loyal readers and guests. I wanted to welcome you to this new story of mine, and assure anyone who likes the other one more, that this one is going to get even more interesting, and that it will end fairly soon (all things considered). That said, it ain't over till it's over, right? Please review, all feedback is appreciated.

_Transmission terminated_

It was another late night in the Tac-Sim Room. Alpha Squadron commander Edmund Duke had set up a match between his own bodyguard squad and that of Gregory Reikson, his counterpart in charge of Omega Squadron. Alpha Squadron's strenuous training had paid off; a trio of sniper attacks drew off Omega defenders, leaving them unprepared for a full frontal assault. Duke shook hands with Reikson as the Marines finished removing their equipment, and plastic credit chips changed hands in the same motion.

"Extraordinarily unorthodox, Edmund; I must commend you," said Reikson, warmly. Though the sum he had given over would have bankrupted a Marine for a year, like most Confederate generals, he was a member of the elite rich as well as a strategist.

"Yes," replied Duke, his habits tended towards the extremely laconic when out of battle situations. Though he had hardly said a word while watching the match, his blue-gray eyes had narrowed sharply as they tracked the movement of each of his men. Reikson knew better than to expect long answers, but continued to chat amiably.

"That's just the Marines, though," continued Reikson, "I think my Ghosts might show yours a thing or two."

"Unlikely. My Ops section is unparalleled."

"Alpha always gets the money and the talent. All the recruits Omega ever ends up with are Resocs." Though Reikson spoke jokingly, his comment was true. Omega Squadron was seen as a blunt instrument to batter enemies into submission with, and so was made up of mostly Resocialized criminals. The brainwashing and mind-altering process made for good cannon fodder, but poor officers and Spec Ops units.

"True," commented Duke. As the final Alpha Squadron Marine stepped out of his PCS, Duke tossed him a piece of plastic. "See that it gets to the men who deserve it. Corporal Krandon deserves special notice."

"Yes sir!" responded the sergeant with alacrity, saluted, and strode off down the hallway.

"So that's how you do it," said Reikson with a grin.

"When they lose, they pay up," responded Duke, his face emotionless as he stated what was, to him, a simple fact.

"To you, Edmund? Surely you don't need it?" said Reikson, surprised. "Or is it to a charity?"

"Neither. Our Weapons Research and Development budget was cut recently; their money helps arm and supply their comrades."

"Ah."

"Hold," said Duke, suddenly. His hand flew to his left ear, specifically the device inserted in it. A metal comm device beeped, and a message played in his ear. Reikson's hand followed suit, listening to his own message.

"Generals Duke and Reikson, an alien threat has manifested to the Sara planets."

"A new one?" asked Duke, harshly. Reikson had not been debriefed yet on the situation, but he had heard rumors of millions of ravenous beasts attacking Chau Sara. Duke had just come from there, and had scheduled the match to keep his troops sharp, and to give them a chance to wind down more gradually.

"That is correct," said the automated voice. "Adjutant" was the name of its owner, she was rumored to be a cyborg, or even an actual robot. "This new threat has identified themselves as the 'Protoss.' Intelligence reports their weaponry is extremely powerful, well capable of incinerating our planets. Your job, generals, is to prevent them from doing so. Your fleets are fueled and ready, your men have been informed of their new duty. I advise you to leave immediately for your command ships. General Duke will be given overall command of this situation."

"Affirmative, Adjutant," said Duke, his eyes glowing in anticipation. "We're on our way."

"Your shuttles are prepped and ready."

"Very good."

"General Duke, speed is of the essence. The Protoss fleet will be in a position to incinerate Chau Sara in approximately three Tarsonis hours."

"Moving."

"Adjutant out."

Reikson smiled at Duke's intensity as the stocky man all but ran through the corridors of the Third Tarsonis Defense Station. Reikson, Duke's opposite in build with a tall, thin body, had no problem keeping up. They boarded the same shuttle going to the Norad II, Duke's flagship. As Duke's second-in-command, Reikson had to be with him as much as possible. The shuttle made good time to the Norad II, and the generals immediately made their way to the command deck. Duke eased himself into his large padded command chair, pressed a button on the armrest, and steepled his fingers.

"Captain Marklin here, general."

"Marklin, I need an Ops team."

"Space combat?"

"Boarding and demolitions."

"Unit VIII, sir. Agent Ares is in command."

"Have him prep his squad. I want them armed and on the bridge in twenty minutes."

"Roger that, general."

"General!" yelled a navigation tech suddenly, his eyes bulging.

"What is it, son!" bellowed Duke at the young man half of his age.

"Look!" replied the nav tech, hitting a series of buttons which magnified his view screen by tenfold. The alien warships, fifty of them, had moved with astonishing speed to surround Chau Sara. The planet was covered in a strange cloud, but Duke knew that was because of the nightmares upon it, not the aliens above it.

Duke had fought Xenomorph monsters on the planet's surface for days without rest, before pulling out with the remnant of his shattered force. The creatures had butchered almost an entire regiment of his men, ripping apart soldiers, Goliaths, even Arclites couldn't stop their claws and acid. Even with the strong defenses surrounding Los Andares, the last city, the Xenomorphs had entirely overrun them in a matter of hours; the endless tide was not even dented by the tactical nuclear strikes unleashed by Duke's own Spec Ops bodyguards.

Even then, the massed formations of Goliaths had held back the Xenomorphs; massed Autocannon fire cutting through even their fastest and strongest warriors. As Arclite shells drove them back still farther, Duke had breathed a sigh of relief for a moment. Then something unbelievable happened. An orange cloud began to spread over the planet's surface. Visibility was lost, but that was a minor inconvenience compared to what happened next. The next wave of the creatures was untouched by the Goliaths and Arclites; the shells and bullets seemed to slow down and disappear in the mist. Only Firebats were able to even touch the Xenomorphs after the cloud spread over the base, but that was discovered far too late, as the swarm ran roughshod over the defenders firing lines. Once they broke into the city, it was too late to do anything. Duke himself barely made it back to the Norad II; the Arclite he had commandeered took a wrong turn and ran into a large group of the creatures. Duke's Spec Ops bodyguards fought them off from the viewports; launching countless rounds from their Canister Rifles. The high explosives were able to damage the Xenomorphs at close range, even in the dense orange cloud.

It had been a close shave, but Duke's unit had been able to make it back to the Norad II in time. The skies were filling with flying Xenos, but the Norad II charged a fired a Yamato blast into them, searing a path through the organge cloud and ripping countless flyers apart. Duke ordered the remnants of the regiment to pull out, and blasted his way through the remaining Xenos to return to Tarsonis and report.

Now the new aliens were moving towards the planet, and Duke was unsure of their aims. Were they moving to protect the Xenos or to attack them? His comm beeped and he pressed a button on his armrest, patching it through to the telescreen. An image flashed into being, and Duke was caught off-guard for the second time in his life.

"Greetings, Terran commander," intoned a deep and strong voice. It was one of the new aliens. Duke squinted, trying to make out the creature's face. The connection was weak, and the image was very hard to make out. Duke barked an order to the tech officer, telling him to adjust the signal. The image cleared, and Duke stared at the alien.

He, or it, was eight feet tall, with a strangely shaped body, incredibly thin in some places and extremely muscular in others. A blue-tinted hide served as the alien's skin, and its eyes were a deep golden-yellow. The alien was clothed in long blue robes, trimmed with gold. A ceremonial helmet rested on his brow. But Duke was not surprised so much at the differences as at the similarities between this alien and the Terrans. Reassuring himself that any advanced group of people had to look like Terrans, Duke responded to the alien.  
"Greetings, alien warlord." The alien made a deep, guttural sound, and Duke realized it was laughing.

"I am the Protoss Executor Tassadar al Tyrmanor, you may address me as Tassadar. This fleet is here to observe and contain the Zerg that have manifested on your planet of Chau Sara."

"Over my dead body," replied Duke, angry. "I don't care who you stand for or what you think, this is for Terrans to deal with, not for you."

"On the contrary, the Dae'thul makes it our responsibility. Moreover, you have not enjoyed any success combating the Zerg, have you?"

"We underestimated them; but even they cannot stand against an entire Confederate fleet!"

"Then you underestimate them still."

"No one tells me what to do, alien!" snarled Duke. "If you don't get the hell out of Confederate airspace, I'm going to take you down." Tassadar laughed again, then placed his hands to his temples, and his eyes narrowed. Duke noticed that his hands had only four digits apiece, but they were long and clawed.

"Terran, I underestimated them as well. You would do well not to hinder us in the fulfillment of our mission. I am sorry." The Protoss cut the transmission.

"What the hell are those bastards up to?" said Duke to himself. One of the tech officers turned from his station.

"General! Energy readings around the Protoss warships are spiking, they're charging weapons!"

"Damnit! Prepare for evasive maneuvering."

"No sir, not at us! At Chau Sara!"

"No. That's impossible." Even as the last syllable left Edmund Duke's mouth, the impossible happened. The fifty Protoss warships that encircled Chau Sara opened fire. A solid wave of blue light shot out from each of them, bathing the entire planet in a brilliant glow. Then it was covered by the orange cloud. An instant later the cloud began to shrivel from beneath and was suddenly consumed as the ground below it, suddenly visible, erupted in a burst of light. The planet was incinerated; burnt from the inside out. Nothing would ever grow or live there again. The Protoss turned their ships around, and began moving again.

"Find their course!" yelled Duke.

"Sir," responded a nav officer. "It's Mar Sara! They're heading to Mar Sara!"

"This can't be happening," said Duke, rubbing his own temples. The bridge doors opened, and Duke froze, fearing a Protoss boarding party for a moment. He relaxed immediately, as the familiar white-trimmed black uniform of a senior Ghost became visible.

"Ah, Ares," he said.

"General," hissed the Ghost. The respirators worn by the mysterious operatives made their voices impossible to distinguish.

"I have a mission for you."

"When?"

"Now."


	2. Boarding Party

Agent Delta inspected his R-8 Combat Carbine again. The magazine was in place, sights lined up, laser calibrated, round in the chamber, all was secure and as it should be. The Ghost leaned back a bit in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable place for his back. While Ghosts were the most lethal and elite Terrans alive, their grueling duties meant that no one would interrupt what little rest time they had. And now, even on this mission, this suicide mission, Delta considered this to be rest time. Sure, death was a probability for the small Dropship, even with the specialized cloaking device, but Ares' squad couldn't help or hinder that in any way, so the six Ghosts took the opportunity to ready themselves. Emotional highs and lows were eliminated as part of training, but Ghosts needed to be in a certain state to achieve the perfection that this mission would demand of them. Delta let his eyes pass over his teammates for a second, and watched as each began to work through his own idea of preparing for combat. All five of the others began stretching and straining their muscles, making sure everything was properly activated, then went back to inspecting their weapons, drifting the sights one millimeter to the right, then two to the left, then back to the original position.

Delta had his own ideas of getting ready. He began to slow down his breathing, and pushed his mind into focus. His eyes swept over the Dropship once more, but this time he noted every flex of his companion's muscles, every pressure point, every bolt in the jutting bulkheads. Moreover, Delta knew exactly where his body was, from the precise angle of his neck, to the distance between his fingers.

Delta knew that raw adrenalin only made for an imbalanced operative. Calm focus and precision were the traits that allowed a Ghost to beat any opponent. And an abundance of both allowed him to walk away from countless firefights not only victorious, but usually unscratched.

Duke had determined that an all-out frontal attack would be the only measure quick enough to stop the Protoss from incinerating Chau Sara, but sent Ares' Ghost squad to destroy the Protoss flagship, identifiable as the one from which the initial contact transmission had been made. Large packs of CX Explosives were strapped to each Ghost, and their mission was to blow the ship apart by any means necessary. To a Ghost, that meant kill anything that gets in your way and then some.

Delta was ready, and the shuttle was moving close in to the largest Protoss ship. The Ghosts unstrapped and clustered by the opening hatch. No details of the Protoss' imposing physical appearance had been given to Ares, so there was a hint of apprehension in the air. The shuttle locked on to the sleek yellow hull, and explosions smashed into the ship, trying to break a hole through the hull. But a blue barrier merely shimmed into sight and dissipated. Ares frowned and hit a red button by the shuttle door. A second set of explosions slammed into the hull and blasted a section out. As the dust cleared, the Ghosts were suddenly slammed into the shuttle walls by a blue wave of energy, knocking all six unconscious. Their bodies were lifted into the air and brought out of the shuttle, and a trio of Protoss warriors slung one over each shoulder and carried them towards the ship. Behind them, a slightly stooped Protoss in flowing robes straightened slightly, and followed them, a blue shadow ever just behind him.

Delta regained consciousness a few moments later. The Ghost Hazardous Environment suits contained stimulant injectors to keep the operatives awake and alert. One such dose had been enough to revive him. Without moving, Delta quickly assessed his situation. He was being carried through large hallways, the walls made of that same golden material that formed the ship hulls. He could sense the other Ghosts, their Psychic Dampeners acting as signal beacons to one of sufficient power and knew what to look for. Delta was unharmed, and assumed his contact with the Dropship walls had been to remove their threat potential, and that the blue wave itself had rendered them unconscious. In that case, he guessed that the Ghosts, or at least he, had been underestimated by the Protoss. Delta stilled himself, fearing a probe, and waited for the signal. It was not long in coming. A quiet beep sounded in the Ghost comm links. The Protoss stopped, hearing the noise. The Ghosts closed their eyes, waiting. A flash of light suddenly exploded into the Protoss' eyes. The Ghosts flipped onto their feet and reached for their pistols. But the Protoss were not to be caught off guard so easily.

All three of the warriors charged forward, bull rushing the surprised Ghosts. Five of them were knocked to the ground by the charge, but Delta leaped over the Protoss that came at him. Delta kicked backwards in mid-air, sending the Protoss sprawling on the ground, unfortunately landing on one of the Ghosts who was trying to get up. Delta nodded, cryptically, and ducked as the other two Protoss both swung their fists at him. Delta's hands swept down to his thighs, past his pistols, to a pair of long Plastium batons. He pulled them from their sheaths, whirled them in the air, and crouched into a fighting stance, daring them to come on.

One of the Protoss roared, and Delta noticed his golden armor was more ornate than the others'. The other two stepped back, and attended to the five unconscious Ghosts. The Protoss leader crossed its arms across its chest, and the edges of his eyes began to shine with a blue glow. Delta held his ground. The Protoss whipped his arms away from his chest, and blue blades shot out from the bracers that sat above his hands.

Delta took a step back as the blades sliced through the air where he had stood a moment before. The Protoss' already long reach was extended by three foot shimmering, almost ethereal blue blades. Though they looked like they could not cut through Morian butter, Delta sensed that that couldn't have been farther from the truth. The Protoss thrust again, and Delta flipped backwards onto his hands. The Protoss took another step forward, anticipating that Delta would complete his flip and present a target. But Delta waited for the Protoss to move closer and kicked up and over, every muscle in his body tensing as he hooked his feet under the Protoss armor and threw the warrior down the hallway as he flipped. The Protoss slid, his armor scraping across the smooth floor. The warrior came to a rest at the feet of the old robed Protoss, who looked down at him, and slowly up at Delta. Delta suddenly jumped in the air, over the two warriors who charged him from the back. He kicked out, sending both of them sprawling as his heavy combat boots smashed into the backs of their heads. Then the old Protoss moved. He held his hands out to the sides, and brought them together with a loud clap.

A wave of blue energy hurtled towards Delta, born from the union of the Protoss' hands. The Ghost held out his own hands together, preparing to receive the assault. The eyes of the old Protoss widened as the attack arced off of Delta's outstretched palms and hit the ceiling, scorching the metal. The Protoss then held out his left hand and clenched his long fingers into a fist. The air shimmered around Delta and formed into a blue sphere. Delta spread his legs and arms apart, as if to portray the Vitruvian Man, and the sphere seemed to shimmer and begin to dissipate. Delta began to draw his arms and legs together, and the sphere seemed to warp and follow them.

Amazed, the Protoss narrowed his eyes, and Delta was sent flying backwards onto the floor. The Ghost looked up at the alien, and nodded, slowly. Then he flipped back up to his feet, and brought his right fist to his chest in salute. The Protoss nodded grimly, and stretched a fist out towards the operative. Delta did not even move in response, and the air seemed to solidify around him.

The operative slowed his breathing, allowing unconsciousness to claim him once more. The old Protoss snapped his fingers, and the other Protoss began to breathe normally again. They gathered up five of the Ghosts, but the old one ordered them to leave Delta untouched. He bent over and picked up the prostrate form himself, and the wizened, old Protoss carried Delta, Ghost operative of the Confederacy, down the long halls of an alien battleship.

_Receiving incoming transmssion_

**Magnus Scriptor:** Hmm . . . since when could a Ghost take on three Zealots and almost beat a high ranking Templar? This is going to lead somewhere interesting . . . Anyone confused by the chapter ending? I'll explain it later.

_Transmission terminated_


	3. Interlude, Destiny Begins Anew

_Receiving incoming transmission . . ._

**Magnus Scriptor:** Hokay, sorry about the lack of updates, I really am. You see, my P.C. and have not been getting along at all; so I'm trying to fix that, since I have four (yes, you read right) chapters to upload for this story. Since does not like it when we dedicate chapter space to author's notes, I am also including a dislocated one-shot. By that I mean that the following is valid in my canon ("MS canon"), but is not directly related to this story arc. You'll see what I mean.

_Transmission terminated_

Far away from the struggles of Koprulu, a lone pilgrim finished a long journey. The cloaked and hooded figure lay his staff down on the ground, and prostrated himself before an ancient temple. The temple was built of gargantuan stones, some similar to granite and marble. The traveler stood, picked up his staff, and began to walk up the steps of the temple. With his left hand, he drew forth a shimmering green orb from inside his cloak, and held it forward. It gave off a little light, but that was not why he carried it. As it touched the doorway of the temple, the air seemed to quiver and vibrate like a plucked string. Satisfied with the result, he placed the sphere back within its pocket. The man then drew his hood back, revealing jade eyes, and strong features. He had high cheekbones, and a single identical scar ran down each. The man's hair was dark and long, and was tied into a ponytail with a strip of red cloth. Setting aside his staff, which was made of a strange wood and trimmed with gold, the traveler reached into his pocket again, and drew forth a second orb, this one a bright white. As he did so, he spoke strange words in an ancient tongue. With each syllable, a single stone began to shift and move. As he finished his incantation, he hurled the orb at the stone. It burst and covered the stone with a strange glow, and the solid rock popped out of the wall as if nothing had held it in place, and split in two. Inside of it was a single golden ring, in the exact center of the cube, which the two halves of the rock had been molded around. The traveler blinked once, and the cloak disappeared. The man shook his head, as if awakening from a strange dream. He wore a skin-tight suit of jet-black, and a dark cowl covered his entire face, except where bulging goggles granted his eyes sight beyond that of a normal man. Knives, pistols, and a rifle were hung from the harness he wore, each within his grasp. There too were stored explosives and ammunition for the warrior. But he seemed taken aback, surprised by his whereabouts and what was happening. An expression of confusion drifted over his masked face, and his eyes flitted to and fro, seeking a cause for his presence there. Finally, he spoke. "Alpha Squad? A-3 here, what's our status?" There was no response to his query. He repeated his question, but garnered no new answer. The operative unholstered his pistols, and checked all of the exits to the room he was in. Then he returned to its center, where the ring still lay on the floor. He touched it, cautiously. It jumped up, and fastened around his little finger. The narrow circle of gold sealed tight to his hand, even through the strong glove. The operative tried to tear it off, but suddenly felt a presence in his mind.

_** Good day to you, Terran  
**__Wait, what is going on? Who are you? Where am I?_

_ ** In a moment you will find that you know the answers, and I will know you as well. ** _

_ No! I won't let you inside my head! _

_** Your strength does you credit, Terran, but you must give in. It is for your good, and for the good of the world. **_

_ I'll never give in! You'll kill me first! _

_** See my power and realize that it is only out of respect for you that I have given you a choice. ** _

_ Resistance is pointless then. _

_** The choice I have given you is no mere illusion, Terran. But let me convince you. See this, a plan for all the world ** _

_It moves like water. _

_**As the choices of men twist and turn their destinies, so must Fate shift and flow to suit your unreason. **_

_ I see. But what use will you have of me? _

_** Do you then grant me your use? ** _

_ Aye, I shall own you as master. _

_** All is well then. I shall explain concisely, for leisure of time is a rare gift, and one I have not been granted now. Fate cannot twist and turn and change for every rash decision of Man. So, therefore, steps must be taken to ensure that Man does not stray too far from his destiny. I am an agent of this calling, as you will become now." **_

___ It seems so clear. But how may I influence men's fates, through word or deed?_

_****__** Either as you are called to. You must seem as one of them, and so I will not yet grant you all the strength that is your calling. You shall inherit it when the time is right. For now, the ring is of no further use. But it will be essential soon. I will grant you a great tool, with which to reap the souls of the beasts that shall fight you, and neither give nor take any quarter. For this too you have been called. But until the skies blacken with the servants of darkness and the earth shakes with the march of their feet, you shall seem no more than any other man. But wisdom will I grant you, and I will watch over you, ensuring your life and mine as well. Do you accept all this? ** _

___ I do, mighty one._

_****__ ** It is well. Go now, report back to your squad. I will withdraw into a corner of your mind until I am needed again, for you. Give them no indication of what has happened, save to say that you investigated a disturbance, and tracked a set of disfigured beasts, yet still alive, to the temple. There you lost their trail, and returned for the help of your team. Go now, and serve me as I serve my master! **_

___ By what name may I call you?_

_****__** You know it as your own, new name. ** _

___Indeed I do. Thank you, lord._

The man then left the temple, striding quickly back to where he knew his fellows awaited him. He followed a narrow dirt path, and was suddenly surrounded as men in identical uniforms rose out of the tall grass surrounding him. He nodded to his commander, and repeated the words he had been told to deliver. His commander nodded, and the six Ghosts began to move stealthily towards the temple grounds. And in the back of the Ghost's mind, a voice whispered to him.

_**Well done, Azrael, my son.**_

_ Receiving incoming transmission . . ._

**Magnus Scriptor:** Wow, that guy folded pretty fast. I wonder what the "presence" showed him . . . my laptop is in for repairs right now, but I'll get them up by the end of Tuesday; I promise. If I can. Personally, I'm really wondering if this character is going to show up in one of my fanfictions. Or if he already has . . .


	4. Unexpected Confrontation

Chapter 4, Unexpected Confrontation

"I know you as well, mighty Tassadar," replied the Ghost, warmly. The two clasped hands in friendship. The other Protoss froze in shock, watching their commander embrace their enemy as a friend.

"It has been years since last we conversed," said Tassadar, releasing the Terran from his grip.

"And your hand is as strong now as then."

"You, on the other hand, seem to have improved your combat skills considerably."

"That is true, though you say it for the wrong reasons. We will speak of things past, but later."

"Mighty Executor," broke in Althran. "where did you meet this Terran before?"

"It was on the forest world of Markilano," replied the Ghost. "He was a Zealot, eager to prove himself worthy. And I was there on my own business. But as I said, we will speak of those things later."

"Yes," said Tassadar, "there is more urgent business to discuss."

"You came to my domain and incinerated hundreds of thousands of my people."

"The Zerg would have turned them against you. You've seen it happen!"

"I was ready to deal with them my way. You just made a new enemy - the entire Terran race!"

"You can be of little harm to us."

"Then why do the Zerg seek to assimilate us?"

"You are in their way, nothing more."

"You know that is a lie."

"You call me a liar?"

"I call you a fool. And if you remain unconvinced of our strength after your first encounter with me, I shall fight you again on whatever terms you wish."

"My powers have grown exponentially. You stand no chance against the Executor of the Protoss Fleets."

"If you are so sure, then allow the fate of the Koprulu Sector to be determined by a match of honor. If I am victorious, then you abide by my decision. If yours is the victory, then nothing has changed except that you lost a little time. So accept or be known as a coward throughout your fleets. I challenge you to Khilro-lah!"

Althran was stupefied once more. That a Terran should even know of Khilro-lah, let alone challenge an Executor to the ancient ritual combat was unthinkable. But there was no mistaking the Terran's intentions. He knew what he said, and he stood by it. Tassadar considered.

"I will accept your challenge, but leave the terms to you. A suitable arena is onboard this ship, as is customary."

"Full armor and weaponry. Unrestricted. One against one."

"Very well. Templar Althran, assemble the ship's crew. Full battle-dress. I want this to be by the book."

"As you command, mighty Executor."

"I will personally escort the Terran to the arena. Make sure whatever weaponry and armor he brought with him is placed in his prep room."

Tassadar waved his hand over a crystal embedded in the console in front of him, and the wall behind him opened, revealing a corridor both wide and long. It was richly decorated as well, with tapestries and plaques of gold adorning the walls. They began the walk down it to the arena, and the doors closed behind them.

"Each of these tapestries and tablet represents a champion here. Many Protoss have fought for one thing or another since the Gantrithor was built. Many were victorious, and many were defeated." Tassadar placed a large hand on the Ghost's shoulder, and looked him directly in the eye. Few intelligent species could look directly at the deep golden eyes of any Protoss, much less an Executor, but Delta met them with his own icy blue, and did not even blink.

"I know why you do this. In truth I would do no differently. But I beg you not to fight a match you cannot win. Once we pass through those doors," he gestured with his free hand, pointing down to the end of the passage, "the bonds of friendship mean nothing to either of us. The blood shed for each other, nothing. The wisdom we found together, nothing. This could destroy us."

"Such sentiments do you great credit, Tassadar. But I feel that my honor cannot abide any other course of action. If you had given in-"

"If? If I had given in, the Conclave would have stripped me of name, title, home, I would be outcast, no better than the Dark Templar I told you of, those years ago. Can you imagine it? Alone in the darkness of space, with nothing to tie yourself to, nothing that defines you except the reaches of your fragile body?"

"It is not imagination but memory that calls to me in answer. I am one who has suffered such. But with me, you would have safety and a friend. It is not too late for you."

"Your honor could not abide the destruction of your homeworld. But mine cannot allow me to retreat from the challenge of Khilro-lah."

"I understand. If there was another way, I would have taken it. Believe me that I am sorry it had to come to this. And I fear that the winner shall have small comfort greater than the loser, when the final judgment is handed down."

"I shall allow you your life at least."

"Then you would condemn me to that same existence you yourself described a moment ago. I survived it once, and learned more than I thought there was to learn, but a second time through would be far less instructive. I have no desire to repeat it. If defeat be my fate, then death shall come too. Then I shall never see my world ended by a friend. And if your mind still tempts you to spare me, think on this: I swore two things. One was to defend my kin as long as I am able. The other was to avenge them if they fell. Alive you might leave me, but we would be enemies and nothing more, forever more."

"Friend. I cannot be your friend, because I have brought us to this."

"You could not be who I befriended had this happened any other way. I'm sorry again, Tassadar. This cannot end any other way. But remember this: you only are who you make yourself to be. Your Conclave cannot strip you of yourself, only one person has the power to do that. And that is yourself. Be true to what is right and what is good, and you will be rewarded. But neglect yourself, rely on the opinions of others, and never challenge authority, and you will know only sorrow. I've said enough, the arena awaits us, Executor. We each have our roles to play, and I know that yours does not end here."

"Thank you, old friend, for everything. I am only sorry that I have to kill you before I could repay my debt."

"You may yet have your chance."

Tassadar and the Ghost stepped through another series of doors into a foggy pit. Large boulders lay all over the landscape, all with gouges cut into them by blade and claw. The soil was rich and dark, but yielded no life. Many feet above them were great transparent windows, where Protoss warriors in their battle-suits were already beginning to file into their positions. Two doors opened in the walls on opposite sides. Tassadar gestured to one, and began to walk to the other. Delta strode purposefully towards the one appointed to him. The doors shut as they passed through.

Delta quickly discarded his skin-tight Ghost uniform. Though it gave him quite an edge over normal Terran opponents, even the Confederate Marines in their Powered Combat Suits, it was not what he had in mind for this exercise. He put on his belt, with holstered pistols and sheathed knives hanging from it, and secured them to his legs. The Ghost then rummaged through his pack until he found what else he was looking for, a narrow piece of gold, shaped like a thin rhombus. He narrowed his eyes at it, and it changed into a simple ring, which he placed on the little finger of his left hand. The Ghost then swung his rifle over his shoulder, and took hold of his combat shotgun, resting it loosely in the crook of his right arm. He then strode back towards the doorway, but it did not open. A green light began to blink to his right, he looked closely at it. The Ghost noticed that there was another light turned off next to it, with a switch underneath. He pressed the button, and the other light began to flash as well. The doors slid open, and Delta moved forward to face his friend in combat.


	5. Khilrolah

The Duel

Meanwhile, in the control room of the Norad II . . .

"Goddamn whatever sons of whores spawned those Protoss," bellowed Duke in a fit of anger as he watched the Protoss begin to circle Mar Sara. "And double-damn whoever gave those freaks that kind of technology!" he added as an afterthought.

"Sir?" said an aide, hesitantly. No one liked to come near Duke when he was angry. He was the ranking officer, after all.

"What in the nine hells do you want from me, boy?" spat Duke.

"The Protoss ships have maintained neutral energy readings; there's no sign that they're preparing to attack again."

"You think I can't read English you cock-sucking toddler? And if you don't think they're going to attack again, then why in the name of the gods are they still in high orbit around my planet?"

"I . . . don't know sir."

"Damn straight. Now shut the fuck up and get me some Marenal."

"Yes sir. Sir!"

"What?!" yelled Duke. The other officers on the bridge began to slowly shuffle away, their eyes on the pistol Duke's hand was moving towards. Not one man there wanted not to vent his frustration in just the same manner, but only Duke was indispensable, only Duke would be excused for such a thing.

"One of the ships is moving towards us. Energy levels are spiking on it!"

"Damnit! Prepare for evasive action!"

"Energy levels rising, rising, still rising."

"Helmsman, get us away from that thing!"

"Energy levels . . . normal."

"What the f-"

Before Duke could finish his final word, a crystalline structure exploded into being around the Norad II. Every other ship suffered the same fate. Outside the strange cages, time marched its inexorable beat, but inside, nothing moved.

Delta stepped forth into the arena, as Tassadar did the same. High Templar Althran stood at a raised platform, commander in Tassadar's absence, and announced the combatants.

"High Executor Tassadar al-Teltharion, you stand challenged to Khilro-lah. Do you accept?"

"I do," intoned the warrior, his eyes fixed upon his opponent. The Executor wore special armor, shaped like golden fish scales and covering his whole body, yet slit at the sides to retain perfect fluidity of motion. His ceremonial war helmet was now pulled down over his face, revealing only his eyes, which shone bright as ever. In his hands he held pieces of carved and decorated wood, each one foot long. The golden heads on the upper ends of each told Delta everything he needed to know about them; they would project the same blades as the wrist bracers of the Protoss he had fought before.

"Terran Warrior, you challenged the High Executor to Khilro-lah, the ritual combat in which either contestant may die, or yield." The Templar said the last two words with undisguised contempt for any honorless person who would take such a course.

"If one contestant marks the other as winner," continued Althran, "then his life may be spared, at the discretion of the victor. Until such time as that, you fight!"

"Glory to the Khala, and its servants," boomed Tassadar, electric blue sparks dancing in his yellow eyes.

"Sharl'na kratalla. Thes un symbios napthalak!" responded Delta, his voice deep and resonant, like the crash of ocean waves. The Protoss knew not what language he spoke, but the intonation of the words filled them all with fear.

Tassadar shook his head, clearing his mind. His Psi-Swords blazed into life, and the Executor spun them in circles before settling into an offensive stance.

Delta made his move next, but no one expected it. He unbuckled his harness and let the holsters and pouches fall to the ground. The Ghost dropped his shotgun and, unslinging it in one swift motion, tossed his rifle to the ground as well. He stood in his own fighting stance, awaiting the first move of the Templar.

Tassadar was surprised to see his friend abandoning the tools of his trade. He took it as tantamount to surrender, a sign of resignation to defeat. With a mighty roar, the warrior charged at Delta, who did not even flinch as the Psi-Swords swept together at him, and through him.

Tassadar dropped to his knees in shock, as he saw what he had done. _My friend, to whom I owed my life, dead so quickly._ Then the body disappeared in a blueish mist. Tassadar spun round as Delta aimed a punch at him. Fist glowing with Psionic energy, the hit connected just before Delta sidestepped the Psi-Swords and swung his other hand around. The strike knocked Tassadar to the ground, and the edge of Delta's hand struck hard at the back of his neck. The helmet absorbed most of the kinetic energy, but enough got through that the Protoss grunted in pain. He rolled over to his side and cut with his blades again. The elusive operative dodged the strike, and returned one of his own, so fast Tassadar had to block it with the handle of his Psi-Sword. He brought the blade down to break the Ghost's grip or sever his hand. But Delta stepped past him and continued the motion, flipping the Executor onto his back. Tassadar flipped up immediately, bringing both blades down. Delta was pushed back with each cut and thrust, Tassadar moving so fast that the Ghost could not move to either side, but back, back towards the wall. The Executor's eyes had turned a pure blue, and raw energy leaped forth with every swing he took. The energy began to reach to Delta's skin, blackening it in one place, searing through it in another. Blood began to drip from the operative's nose, and every Protoss saw the Terran prepare to lose, Althran took a step forward and intoned the ritual words. "Terran champion, do you acknowledge Tassadar al-Teltharion as the victor in this match?"

Delta leaped backwards, and landed on one knee. Pulling the ring from his wrist and staring at it, he muttered five words. "Karataa, 'nlatu, victu, Knalador Daemones." The ring reshaped itself into its previous diamond shape, but in the center was a blackness, as if a portal into the Void had been opened. Something suddenly shot through it, and the blackness disappeared. Out of the dark had come a sword, and the strange talisman became part of its pommel.

The sword was five feet long, with a foot and a half long handle. The blade tapered to a long point at the end, and a blood groove ran its entire length. Raw Psionic nergy crackled along the length of the blade. The figure touched his bleeding nose, and then brought a drop of the blood onto the energy encircling the blade. It turned a blood-red, and formed around the already incredibly sharp edge of the sword.

A long cloak of perfect black now encircled the figure, and his shape began to change. "Delta" grew a foot taller, and his hair lengthened to a magnificent raven mane, reaching almost to his shoulders. His robes darkened and brightened to a midnight black with jagged red stripes. His eyes too changed. Instead of their former icy-blue, they were now even more frightening. A deep silver shone from them, its clarity belying the vivid red and black, and its strength seeming to pierce the very soul of whomever it touched. It grew beyond the iris, until the entirety of both eyes was a perfectly blinding silver.

The tall figure now lowered the sword till it pointed straight at Althran. Though the blade weighed over ten pounds, the figure's arm trembled not a jot, he did not waver. He turned his perfect silver eyes to Althran, and spoke, as if for the first time in many ages.

"**My . . . name . . . is . . . Azrael!"**


	6. An Angel Revealed

Tassadar took a step back, and then another, as the shadowy figure stepped down from the rock. The Templar wavered as Azrael took a step towards him, and another. But the Executor was stronger than many gave him credit for. Tassadar's eyes narrowed to slits, where blue sparks danced and spun. The blades glowed strongly. Azrael noted all this in one glance, and nodded his approval. With one hand, the mighty figure gestured to the assembled Protoss, silencing them as a roar of tumult and outrage at this trickery began to sweep the room. Tassadar echoed the gesture, and the Protoss stilled.

**"Now you see me as I truly am, and are afraid. It is well, you have much to fear."**

Azrael turned his attention back to Tassadar, who was suddenly no longer there. The Templar stood behind Azrael, and struck with both swords at his head. Without looking, Azrael ducked, spun, and struck, thrusting his sword towards Tassadar's torso. The Templar formed his swords into an X and blocked the thrust, forcing it downwards. Azrael stepped forward to Tassadar's left and drove the pommel of his sword into the Templar's helmet.

Tassadar was lifted off of his feet by the force of the blow, and landed on his back several feet away. He rose and charged again, cutting with his Psi-swords in thin and precise arcs. Azrael did not give way before the assault. Two quick flicks of the wrist of his sword-hand, and the hilts of Tassadar's Psi-swords were cleaved in two, the blades sputtering and dissipating. The Executor stepped back, uncertain for a moment, and then met Azrael's eyes. "Give up, _Protoss_" they seemed to say, as Delta had said all those long years ago when first they had fought. But Tassadar had held out hope then, and knew now that he could do nothing else than fight to the finish. What he had meant as a symbolic match against a braggart had turned into a fight for his life.

Tassadar roared, louder than anyone had ever heard. Azrael's eyes remained steady, but there was not a single Protoss who did not flinch at the mighty sound. Tassadar brought his hands in a gesture above his head and swung them suddenly down, as if to throw the very air he grasped at Azrael. And so it seemed. For it seemed as it Azrael was being buffeted by a great wind, he took a step back to steady himself, and then brought his blade in a two handed even cut straight in front of him. The red energy cracked and sparkled, and the attack ceased. Azrael held out a hand towards Tassadar, and clenched it into a fist, then opened it wide. The armor sprang off of the Protoss, and clattered to the ground. Tassadar then placed his palms together and thrust them towards Azrael. A ball of white light formed between them and shot at Azrael. He took a step back, and brought his sword down in an overhand sweep, bisecting the ball as it shot at him. The energy crackled harmlessly, two feet in front of him. Tassadar was breathing heavily now, such usage of his great powers was taxing.

Azrael began to stride slowly forward. Tassadar lowered his hands to his sides and brought them up again, and Azrael was lifted into the air. He laughed, and it seemed to the spectators that the ship shook with the deepness of his voice.

**"The air is my realm as well, Tassadar."**

With that, great wings of fire shot out from his back, and beat once. The force Tassadar commanded disappeared, and Azrael shot towards the Templar like a bullet. One moment he hovered above, and the next he stood directly in front of them. Tassadar channeled his energies into his hands, expecting a glow to come forth and augment his striking power. But instead long thin blades appeared reaching out of his forearms. They seemed curved and clawlike, and Tassadar gazed at them in amazement. Even Azrael was taken aback, albeit momentarily, at this unprecedented occurrence. A sheath appeared at his side, and he swiftly placed his sword in it. Then, as Tassadar swung the strange blades towards him, he twisted his arms around and grabbed the Executor's wrists. Then, Azrael looked straight into the Protoss' eyes.

Tassadar's gaze was held for a moment, and the Templar fell to the ground, the shock of his defeat resonating through his Psychic link. The Protoss warriors observing averted their eyes with heavy hearts, and the finishing words choked in Althran's throat.

"It . . . is finished," he gasped, quietly. "The Terran champion has defeated Tassadar al-Teltharion in the ritual combat of Khilro-lah. What say you, Terran, if Terran you truly are?"

**"I am Terran, High Templar Althran. I am what the Terrans were meant to be, what they have the potential to become. I am an embodiment of the Destiny of humankind. That destiny involves Koprulu, and so, to accomplish the will of Fate, I have been sent. Therefore, follow your Executor away from this place, in good faith, for he shall lead your people with his life, and his future death."**

Tassadar struggled to his feet, looking old and weary. "Azrael, are you Delta?"

**"That is who you knew me as. I have worn many names throughout the centuries, and only now have I revealed my true self. Forgive my deception as a friend, since friends we were and are, and listen to what I have to tell you. It concerns the fate of all, Protoss, Terran, Zerg, and others too. Now come, take my hand, and you too, High Templar Althran, and I shall tell you what I can, and what I must."**

A sphere of light surrounded Althran, and he disappeared. The High Templar reappeared directly in front of Azrael. Tassadar stepped forward, and each took one of Azrael's hands. His wings swept forwards, wrapping around each, and then they vanished, leaving no trace they had ever existed.


	7. Between the Planes

Chapter 6 Between the Planes

"Where are we?" asked Althran, looking around. The three had reappeared in a shadowy place. Though they seemed to stand on solid ground, they could see nothing beneath their feet, or above their head. Dark mists drifted past, but none felt heat or cold. Nothing was clearly visible except themselves and each other.

**"We are in a secret place, where no spies of my enemies may find us. Suffice it to say, it is neither any place you know of, nor any other place. If Reality is a million dimensions connected by carpeted hallways, then we would be under a rug."**

"Amusing, friend," said Tassadar. "But what do you have to say to us?"

"I will first answer as many of your questions as I may."

"Good," said Althran. "Who, or what, are you?"

**"I am a Terran who has achieved the pinnacle of human evolution through an ancient artifact I was brought to."**

"Brought to?"

**"Destiny was my guide, never in countless years had it been found by any other, nor would another have ever come across it. The artifact was my sword, named as Knalador Daemanos, the Scourge of Demons in a forgotten tongue. That was decades ago."**

"And since then?"

"**I have taken on the guise of many ordinary persons over the years. Advisor to the Confederates, to the Morians, to the Umojans. As I know you have monitored Terran events closely, this information should be of some interest to you. I was the principal architect of the formation of the Sons of Korhal. Arcturus Mengsk was an idealistic fool; I gave him weapons and access to training, I gave him a goal, I gave him what he needed for it. And now he may bring down the Confederacy as I desired. Of course, I don't plan for him to establish his own rule."**

"You plan for your own?"

"**I am prepared to do whatever is necessary to maintain order in the Koprulu Sector, so that Terrans may achieve their destiny. Do you know what my name means?"**

"It seems familiar, but I do not know," said Althran.

"I have never heard of it," responded Tassadar.

"'**Azrael' is a derivative of Rtha-Azraelanus. It means the Hand of Fate in the ancient tongue. I have been sent to ensure that the blessings of Fate are not withheld from the Terran race."**

"Right, as you say. Where do the Zerg fall into place here?"

"**The Zerg evolutionary process was accelerated by the same race as yours. They name themselves "Xel'Naga" in the ancient language. It means 'The Defiant.' I trust neither of you have heard of the Terran poet Miltonn; he lived several hundred years ago."**

"We have not," said Althran. "Indeed, that Terrans possess a culture where poetry is allowed is a surprise to me," he added.

"**The reference I was expressing was that the Xel'Naga were servants of Fate as I was, but refused to serve. They preferred to be lords in this plane than servants above it. They have worked great evil, but their taint is no longer left upon you."**

"You mean to tell me," said Tassadar, shocked, "that our wise teachers of ages past were enemies of creation?"

"**Aye, it is so. They sought to corrupt you, who were truly First-born, and favored of Fate. They were cunning, and desired you to destroy yourselves, rather than risk their own deaths in war with you. And so they orchestrated your Aeon of Strife. But Fate brought one such as I to you, and you named him Khas.**

"**Khas restored order to your troubled society, and disappeared. But he was called upon again to serve Fate, when you were preparing to reject the one hope that Fate provided for the Protoss to survive: the Dark Templar. Khas returned in the form of Adun, and gave life to them, and your entire race because of them.**

"**But the Xel'Naga refused to be defeated, and raised up the Zerg against you. Though they suffered great losses at the hands of their unwitting servants, their plan is being brought to fruition even as we speak. Too few of the Xel'Naga remained to realize the potential of the Terrans could be twisted, but they had made their own safeguard in the form of the Zerg. They would assimilate new species, and the control of the Xel'Naga over each would increase with their own latent Psionic potential. Thus those Terrans twisted by the Zerg are also able to be controlled by other Xel'Naga, to an extent."**

"Other?" queried Tassadar.

"**One Xel'Naga sacrificed himself to ensure the strength of the Zerg. Though their power overwhelmed even him, to an extent, the Overmind is far more than just a cunning beast. It was –- is – a Xel'Naga as well. And it seeks the destruction of the Protoss."**

"Then what may we do against such power?"

"**Find the Dark Templar, Tassadar. Bring them to Aiur. Destiny has decreed that the Zerg shall consume a part of your planet before you may have a chance to defeat the Overmind. I am sorry for your future loss, as my own have been great as well. But I may say no more; our time here grows short. I will return you both to your vessel, but not one Protoss will remember a thing about me. Your wounds will be healed, and you will be as you were before. Fate decreed that, for my mission to succeed, I would be granted favors. And so no one, including those Terrans who 'sent' me, will remember me. All has been set in motion. And all have a part to play."**

The shadows began to face, and Tassadar thought he saw his own Command Deck reappearing around him. Azrael turned his back on them, when Althran spoke.

"Shall we see you again?"

"**Yes, and sooner than you believe, I think. Look for my coming when it is most needed. There are many weights yet in place, but it is my job to tip the balance."  
**

_Receiving incoming transmission . . . _

**Magnus Scriptor:** Well, my writing station is back online, and so I have this for you. I apologize once more for my enforced sabbatical. Where I shall go from here is yet to be determined, however.

While I would love to explore the first meeting of Tassadar and the Terran Ghost codenamed Delta, I would hate to leave my New Gettysburg stories alone that long. Of course, their path is yet uncertain, as are all things future. Expect an update to them by the end of the week, however.

As always, please review if you have read this and have anything whatsoever to say about it. Thanks are appreciated, constructive criticism is too, and if you have something nasty to say, well, there's room for you in my Inbox as well.

_Transmission terminated _


End file.
